Grass
by Obi the Kid
Summary: Second half of Season 6. Sam POV. Sam suffers another crack in the wall. Sam's POV as he tries with a little help to bring himself out of it.


**Title**: Grass

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating**: PG

**Summary:** Second half of Season 6. Sam POV. Sam suffers another crack in the wall. Sam's POV as he tries (with a little help) to bring himself out of it.

* * *

"Sam, come on, damn it. It's over now. Wake up."

I hear you Dean. I just can't figure out how to respond. My head. My eyes. Can't seem to see past this blinding pain.

Strangely enough though, I can feel the grass under me.

Soft.

So soft against my aching back.

I remember flapping around wildly before I blacked out. I remember you grabbing me and carefully lowering me onto the grass. Soft. Green. Face down as I was, it was really all I could see. I could feel you and hear you, but all I could find focus on was the reassurance of the grass that quietly supported me.

The blades collapsed gently under my weight.

Collapsed – just like the wall in my head was doing.

"Sam?"

It's your voice again, Dean. I need to hear it. Don't move me off the grass, but don't stop talking either. Please.

My throat feels like fire. I can't clear it to make the hurt stop. Makes the worse case of strep I ever had seem like a trip to Disney Land. Why does it hurt so badly?

"Sam, we need to get away from this place. Open your eyes."

Can't. The daylight hurts my head. The grass surrounding me though – feels nice. I can't move yet. Not yet, Dean. Please don't make me get up. I just want to stay here on the grass and rest. I feel safe here.

"Damn it, Sam, wake up!"

Okay, Dean. For you, I'll try to open my eyes.

They're working. Slit and squinting against the harshness of the blazing sun, but still working.

"D'n?"

There. I got his name out. Sort of. He'll understand though. Dean knows my mumbles better than I do.

"Right here, Sammy."

Gotta tell him more.

"M'hdurts."

"I know it does. Your throat probably isn't too gung ho either. You were screaming."

I was? I don't remember screaming. I just remember pain. And grass. I remember grass.

I moved my fingers. The blades rustled smoothly between them. Then Dean took one of my hands and squeezed tight.

"Can you stand?"

I'd be lucky to just lift my head. Can't move me right now, Dean. Just let me stay here in the grass for a while.

"Sam, come on. I need you to work with me. We need to leave."

"No, D'n. Here."

"I am here, Sam."

He wasn't understanding me. Now of all times.

"No, go."

Through my half-lidded eyes I could see him struggling with the meaning of my discombobulated mumbling. I realized I wasn't making much sense. That and my throat burned hotter with each attempt to speak. Syllables were not my friend.

"Sam, not quite sure what you're saying, which is odd enough in itself. I know your mumbles better than you do."

I told you.

"So let's try something more basic."

He fell back on the squeeze my hand idea that we'd used far too many times in the past. One squeeze for yes and two for no.

"Sam, can you understand what I'm saying to you?"

_One._

"Can you stand?"

_Two._

"Great. How about sitting up, can we try sitting up?"

A hesitant - o_ne_.

He put a hand under my back and lifted as I tried to push off the grass with my free hand.

What a big mistake that was. And a mistake that caused pain. Pain that ran from one ear to the other and everywhere in between, above and below, like a branched bolt of lightning.

I had to stop it so I put all my will into one clear and concise word.

"NO!"

Dean immediately lowered me back down onto the grass.

The grass. Soft. Comforting. If I could just stay here forever, life would be good. It made the pain better. It stopped the lightning from streaking through my head.

I squinted at Dean, desperate for him to understand.

It took some time, but eventually he did.

"S'okay, Sammy. I won't move you. We'll stay put as long as you need."

If the sigh of relief I let out sounded and felt desperate, it was. I _needed_ to say here on the grass. I needed Dean to stay with me. I needed both of those anchors to keep me sane until this passed. And I knew it would pass. It was that pesky '_when'_ that always got me.

At least I could see now. That was something. My squinting was less. Dean had moved his position to sit in just a way that his body blocked the worst of the sun from my face.

Dean - always looking out for his pain-in-the-ass little brother.

"You want water, Sam? It might help your throat. The car isn't far from here, I can…"

"No." I said again. Don't leave me, Dean. Just stay here in the grass and talk to me. Make some stupid lame-ass joke to pass the time. Anything. You can't leave though.

Dean nodded. "Okay. I won't leave. I'll just stay right here, sitting in the damp grass holding the hand of my pain-in-the-ass little brother. That won't look bizarre and girly at all from a distance, will it?"

Thank you, Dean for being so you at times.

I felt myself smile. I tried to laugh, but it sounded more like the honk of a goose. Keep talking, Dean. Keep being you. Keep my mind on something other than the pain in my head. Lying back on the grass helped some. Listening to you ramble on…it helps. It does.

Time passed. The sun was losing altitude. My eyes stopped hurting. My head pounded less. The grass was still soft as it transformed to a darker green in the waning light. Both Dean and I had gone silent a while back, listening to the world around us. Cars. Birds. Bugs. All of those things slowly replacing the feel and sound of the pain in my head.

"Sam?"

Dean broke the quiet. It was just about dark now, though the lights from the nearby parking lot were enough for us to see by.

"Huh?"

"Doin' okay?"

"Head's better. Throat burns."

"Wanna try movin'? I mean, I know you and this grass here have a thing going on, and it's not my place to separate you two, but we really should try again."

I honk-laughed again, but trusted my brother.

"'kay."

"Tell me to stop if the pain comes back."

The pain wouldn't come back, at least not the worst of it. Not now. Not this time.

Dean supported my back and pulled me upright. "Sammy?"

"M'okay."

I dropped my left hand to the familiar grass one last time and pushed off as Dean helped me stand.

The grass was cushiony as we walked at a snail's pace to the car. With each step, I could feel it hugging my feet; stabilizing me. In reality, I think it was more Dean than the grass, but my mind was still a bit foggy.

I just wanted to go home and forget the world for a while.

Home was about a hundred feet away in the shape of a classic old black car.

Dean sat me in the passenger side, leaning me against the closed door. The recognizable feel of the seat surrounded me instantly just like the soft grass had done.

One anchor lost, another gained.

"Sammy?"

With my head lying against the window, I didn't have the energy to look at my brother. But I answered him.

"Yeah?"

"Just making sure you're still with me."

"Here."

He pressed a bottle of water into my hand. "Just sip it, okay? We'll get you some ice chips at the hotel. Maybe some peanut butter-fudge ice cream if you're a really good boy."

I puffed out a less goose-like laugh.

"Not lil kid an'more, D'n."

"No, but you're still my little brother. So shut up, sip your water and rest until we get there."

"Pain-in'th-ass lil br'thr, r'membr?"

This time, Dean was the one who laughed as he patted my knee, assuring me, as he always did, that everything would be okay.

I thought about the soft green grass again as I began drifting off, how it held me steady and kept me safe during the worst.

Then I thought about my big brother, who for so many years has been the one to hold me steady and keep me safe from myself and from countless outside forces.

Dean's mantra of "It'll be okay, Sammy," was always comforting, even when we both knew the impossibility. And of course, many times, things weren't okay. In fact far too often, 'okay' seemed thousands of miles away.

Still, whenever Dean says that to me, a part of me believes in it.

A part of me that desperately _needs_ to believe in it.

Like the grass – it's something to cling to and anchor to when all hell starts breaking loose…and when walls start crumbling around me.

And well, who knows, right? Maybe this time, everything will be okay.

* * *

The end.


End file.
